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HI  ill 


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LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF     I 
CALIFORNIA/ 


-A- 


KOOPMAN 
POETICAL    WORKS 

III 

MORROW-SONGS 


CHARGE 

Go,  MoRROW-SoNGS,/0r  so  I  bid  you  greet 
With  blithe  good-morrow  all  ye  hap  to  meet; 
And,  MORROW,  while  to  glad  my  steps  ye  ran 
On  childhood's  dewy  sward,  ere  they  began 
To  slip  and  stumble  up  life's  craggy  slope ; 
MORROW,  because  your  greeting  rings  with  hope, 
Stronger  for  disillusion ;  and,  again, 
As  MORROW-SONGS  /  send  you  forth  to  men, 
Because  of  earth's  great  morrow-tide  ye  sing, 
And  all  the  wonder  that  its  dawn  shall  bring ; 
And,  MORROW,  lastly,  since  to  far-off  days, 
If,  haply,  any,  must  ye  look  for  praise. 


MORROW-SONGS 

1880-1898 


BY 

HARRY  LYMAN  KOOPMAN 


BOSTON,  MASS. 

H.  D.   EVERETT,  PUBLISHER 

1808 


Copyright  1898 
By  H.  L.  Koopman 


LOAN  STACK 


DEDICATION 

Inly  beloved,  ere  my  songs  take  flight, 
Grant  them,  I  pray,  acceptance  in  thy  sight, 
Who  art  my  morrow-tide  with  hope  elate, 
And  courage  to  confront  the  coming  fate ; 
Tet  art  my  midday  strength  and  equal  mind, 
Who  daily  faith^renewest  in  humankind; 
And  art  no  less  the  solace  and  repose 
That  come  with  darkness  at  my  labor's  close. 
Morning  and  noon  and  even,  O  my  wife, 
Unite  in  thee  my  perfect  day  of  life. 


'58 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Charge  ii 

Dedication  v 

Freedom  3 

The  Gothic  Minster  5 

The  Conqueror  19 

John  Brown  21 

The  Sowers  21 

Progress  23 

Reform  23 

The  Thinker  24 

Heaven  25 

Life  26 

Recognition  26 

Indignation  27 

Temptation  27 

Home  27 

The  Outlook  34 

Appreciation  37 

The  Pioneer  38 

The  Higher  Harmony  38 

Numbers  39 

The  Heavenly  Vision  39 

My  Washerwoman  40 

The  Church  Progressive  41 

Failure  4 1 

After-Life  41 

Priestcraft  42 

Inheritance  42 
vii 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

What  Shall  It  Profit?  42 

Riches  43 

Prudence  44 

Extremes  A  A 

The  Wail  of  the  Wounded  45 

Opportunity  46 

Truth  46 

M'Cready  46 

Stumbling-Blocks  47 

Two  Characterizations  48 

Individualism  49 

New  Birth  49 

Masks                             .  49 

Wit  and  Madness  50 

Oppression  50 

The  Beginning  of  Civilization  50 

The  Jew  5 1 

The  King  of  Darkness  5 1 

Music-Life  52 

Recreant  52 

The  Rule  of  Mammon  53 

Birth  54 

Hate  54 

Truth,  Peace,  Love  55 

John  Henry  Mackay  57 

Aloneness  57 

Comrade  58 

The  Satirist  58 

Midway  59 

Originality  63 

Revealed  63 

viii 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Kearsarge  64 

Babyhood  65 

Medio  Tutissimus  Ibis  66 

The  Triumph  of  Toil  67 

The  Player  67 

Song-Lull  67 

The  Time-Server  68 

Genius  68 

Fertility  69 

Guided  69 

The  Way  Station  70 

Culture  71 

Before  Dawn  71 

Dust  72 

Two  Poets  73 


IX 


MORROW-SONGS 


FREEDOM 

VANISHED  the  tender  gleams 
That  my  past  illumed  ; 
In  a  blaze  of  noon-bright  beams 
Is  their  dawn  consumed. 

A  vision  blasting  with  light 

Thy  features  give.  — 
Have  I  looked  with  naked  sight 

On  Thee,  and  live  ? 

Or  who  will  credit  my  tale, 

If  I  speak  Thee  true  ? 
But,  chosen  of  Thee,  can  I  fail  ? 

I  will  dare  and  do. 


NOTE. 

In  the  following  poem  the  description  of  the  cathedral  adopts, 
for  the  outside,  somewhat  the  lines  of  the  minster  at  Ulm  with 
its  single  spire,  among  the  spires  of  earth  peerless  in  height  and 
beauty ;  while  the  colors  of  the  interior  ha<ve  been  drawn  from 
the  more  gorgeous  cathedrals  of  the  Ile-de-France,  the  cradle 
and  the  throne  of  Gothic  architecture. 


THE  GOTHIC  MINSTER 

A  SYMPHONY  in  stone  ;  wherein  all  notes 
Wrung  or  upleaping  from  man's  ruddy  heart, 
The  low,  the  loud,  the  dull,  the  penetrating, 
As  up  to  heaven  thronging  they  ascend, 
In  labyrinthean  intertanglement, 
O'ertaken  in  mid-harmony  by  form, 
Stand  bodied  forth,  eternized,  visible. 
No  thin  Memnonian  murmur,  faintly  heard 
At  dawn  or  dusk  with  glad  or  plaintive  strain, 
Here  swells  a  chorus  never  still,  a  vast 
Millennial  antiphon  absolved  from  sound, 
Which  thrills  and  thunders  on  the  eye  alone ; 
The  music  of  the  world-wide  life  of  man, 
Its  hopes  and  fears  and  sins  and  sacrifices, 
Rapt  adoration,  faith  by  deeds  confirmed, 
Jaw-dropt  credulity,  keen  questioning, 
Death-scorning  courage  daunted  by  the  dark, 
Love  barred  with  hate,  with  grossness  purity, 
Red-slipping  war,  the  hammering  hum  of  peace, 
Hand-clasping  brotherhood  and  manliness, 
The  joy  of  handiwork,  whose  rest  is  toil, 
The  joy  of  breathing,  moving,  loving  life, 
Immortalized  and  eloquent  in  stone. 


MORROW-SONGS 

Stand  here  at  night  in  storm,  when,  through  the 

gloom, 

The  great  bulk  seems  a  wall  across  the  world, 
Uprising  jagged  to  the  very  sky, 
And  you  could  deem  a  horned  Alp,  rebellious 
Against  the  encircling  conclave  of  his  peers, 
Had  by  their  doom  been  banished  here  to  dwell, 
With  all  his  fretting  pines  and  pinnacles. 
But  let  the  moon  break  forth,  and  through  swift  scud 
Flicker  and  float  upon  these  carven  walls, 
The  mountain  vanishes,  and  in  its  place 
A  structure  gleams  without  a  stain  of  earth, 
A  temple  heaven-descended,  or,  as  if 
A  convoy  of  blest  angels  chorusing, 
As  back  to  heaven  they  bore  a  saint's  white  soul, 
Had  ravished  so  the  moonlight  with  their  song, 
That,  where  their  notes  fell,  there  the  beams,  trans- 
formed, 

Had  stood  upstriving,  and,  as  rose  the  hymn, 
So  rose  the  silver  fane,  until  the  sound 
Was  muffled  by  the  stars ;  while  far  below, 
Though  far  aloft  to  men,  the  snowy  cross 
Hung  yearning  for  that  vanished  melody. 
But  stand  before  the  minster  when  high  noon 
Throws  its  revealing  light  on  tower  and  wall, 
The  airy  structure  hardens  into  stone ; 
Not  all  forgetful  of  the  mountain  form 
It  wore  in  darkness,  nor  the  winged  grace 
6 


THE  GOTHIC  MINSTER 

And  lightness  of  that  moony  masonry ; 

Yet  plainly  work  of  man,  man  at  his  best, 

Highest  aspiring  and  most  self-forgetful. 

Therefore  most  self-revealing.     Then,  what  self? 

The  genius  of  what  master  intellect 

Shines  here  by  baser  hands  wrought  visibly  ? 

No  mighty  genius,  and  no  baser  hands, 

But  common  lives  by  faith  and  art  exalted ;  — 

Such  workmen  reared  these  walls,  and  carved  these 

spires, 

And  shot  yon  shaft  of  beauty  into  air 
Till  the  eye  aches  that  follows,  and  the  heart 
Feels  itself  snatched  from  earth  and  swept  on  high, 
As  by  the  current  of  a  soaring  flame. 

If  then  the  greatness  was  not  theirs  that  wrought, 
What  mastering  motive  so  informed  their  lives 
As  through  such  lowly  means  to  win  expression  ? 
Religion  't  was,  and  art  its  ministrant, 
The  records  answer;  but  the  question  comes, 
If  unto  them  the  word  "  religion  "  spake 
As  in  our  ears  to-day.     In  every  age 
Bears  not  the  word  its  new  significance, 
Or  meanings  manifold,  though  under  all 
Abide  the  root  and  spring  of  all  religion, 
The  loneliness  and  longing  of  the  soul 
Orphaned  of  its  ideal  ?     The  eye  within 
Beholds  an  image  of  perfection, 


MORROW-SONGS 

But  in  the  outer  and  embodied  world 

Sees  only  crudeness,  failure,  death,  decay  ; 

No  circle  round,  no  angle  true,  no  life 

But  inly  bears  the  seeds  of  its  own  death ; 

The  redeless  riddle  of  the  universe  : 

The  rain  descending  on  the  evil  man 

As  on  the  good,  and  on  the  good  as  oft 

The  hail  and  lightning ;  nothing  justified 

Within  the  span  of  life ;  the  heart  awarding 

Men's  lot  by  merit,  and  aggrieved  to  find 

That  force  on  earth  usurps  the  place  of  right ; 

Nor  satisfied  that  with  the  ages'  lapse 

Wrong  slowly  is  made  right,  if  this  man's  hurt 

Is  never  healed,  nor  that  man's  pride  put  down. 

The  heart  has  vision  in  its  inmost  shrine 

Of  love  illimitable,  its  native  air, 

Its  birthplace  and  its  bourne ;  but  sees  on  earth 

Man's  hand  against  his  brother,  hate  and  greed 

Making  the  world  a  shambles,  or  a  den 

Of  famine  and  of  torture ;  yea  !  the  lesson, 

Learned  after  centuries,  that  't  is  thriftier 

To  coin  a  brother's  heart's-blood,  drop  by  drop, 

Than  spill  it  wastefully  by  the  swift  sword. 

But  heart  and  mind  refuse  to  answer  no 
To  the  enigma  of  the  universe. 
Though  earth  and  air  and  sea  and  human  life, 
With  all  their  voices,  howl  a  negative, 
8 


THE  GOTHIC  MINSTER 

Deep  in  the  soul  resounds  eternal  yea. 
Therefore  the  soul  back  on  itself  returns, 
And  through  itself,  as  though  a  glass,  beholds 
The  infinite  brought  down  to  human  ken, 
The  dateless,  boundless,  beauty,  goodness,  truth. 
But  not  in  all  its  hours  can  the  soul  scale 
Those  dizzy  heights  of  contemplation, 
Descend   those   depths  and   breathe   with   mortal 

breath  ; 

Nor  have  all  souls  that  strength  to  climb  and  dive. 
So,  that  the  blind  might  share  the  seer's  sight, 
And  that  the  seer  in  his  hours  of  gloom 
Might  not  forget  the  vision  wonderful, 
Men  wrought  them  symbols  that  should  reproduce 
The  shadowed  glory,  as  the  picture's  lines 
Recall  the  absent  loved  one.     Yea,  they  strove 
By  strong  suggestions  so  to  realize 
The  world  unseen,  that  o'er  the  symbol  seen 
The  unseen  through  the  parted  heaven  should  burst. 
Many  the  symbols  that  in  many  lands 
Throughout  the  ages  have  moved  human  hearts 
With  heavenly  persuasion ;  but  with  some 
An  age,  a  race,  drank  all  the  meaning  dry, 
And  left  a  rocky  channel  to  our  thirst. 
Yet  other  symbols  spake  to  all  men's  hearts 
And  speak  to  after  ages.     Such  are  those 
Vast  emblems  of  the  life  of  man  in  God 
And  of  God's  life  with  men,  that,  long  perfecting, 

9 


MORROW-SONGS 

After  the  opening  of  the  new  millennium 
For  half  a  thousand  years  ceased  not  to  break 
Flower-like  on  Europe's  air,  as  if  the  rocks 
Had  risen  in  worship,  and  the  forest  aisles 
Had  joined  them  in  uplifted  adoration. 

For  him  who  from  our  naked  shore  brings  eyes 

Of  unblest  innocence,  which  never  saw 

Beauty  in  stone  nor  vaulted  awfulness, 

Yet  brings  a  heart  that  thrills  to  grace  and  gloom 

What  ravishment  awaits  !     On  him  unwarned, 

In  all  their  beauty  and  their  fragrance,  burst 

These  fadeless  blossoms  of  the  centuries. 

Upon  his  ears  not  dulled  by  frequency 

The  mighty  chords  of  these  vast  instruments 

Shatter  full  diapason.     O'er  his  soul 

The  symbol  once  again  breaks  up  the  depths 

Of  the  unfathomed  blue  to  melt  beneath 

The  glory  of  the  infinite  descending. 

Man's  life  in  God,  so  mounts  the  soaring  pile ; 

Foundations  vast  and  broad  laid  far  below 

In  sunless  depths  of  unseen  sacrifice; 

The  walls  arising,  buttressed  all  about 

With  rallying  support ;  oft  scarcely  more 

Than  buttresses,  so  precious  is  the  room 

For  inward  light ;  then  shrinking  in  the  roof, 

Then,  as  if  taking  heart,  once  more  the  walls 

Rise  heavenward,  many-windowed,  through  a  maze 

10 


THE  GOTHIC  MINSTER 

Of  buttresses  that  spring  to  meet  the  lower, 

Then  leap  in  upward  flame  for  very  joy 

Of  help  received  and  given  ;  while,  through  all 

The  length  and  breadth  of  the  vast  edifice, 

No  line  but  upward  strives,  no  stone  but  lifts, 

No  smallest  spire  or  finial  but  stands 

On  tiptoe  to  ascend.     But  not  so  broad 

Can  mount  the  highest  life.     The  roof  shuts  in  ; 

And  all  the  upward  impulse  of  the  pile 

Narrows  into  the  tower,  which  climbs  and  climbs, 

But  though  so  far  from  earth  not  yet  finds  heaven  ; 

Too  earthly  still,  it  throws  more  weight  away ; 

A  flying  cloud  is  scarce  so  airy  now ; 

But  still  the  vision  waits,  and  still  the  spire, 

Now  narrowed  to  a  staff",  holds  on  its  aim, 

Will  not  give  o'er  until  the  blessing  fall ; 

And  see,  the  stone  begins  to  bud  with  hope; 

Swifter  the  spire  shoots  up,  then  suddenly 

Stops,  and  in  the  rose-cross  blossoms  forth 

For  rapture  of  the  beatific  vision. 

So  finds  the  life  of  man  its  rest  in  God, 
After  long  toil,  repose  ;  long  warfare,  peace. 
Where  finds  it  ?     Yonder,  never  here  on  earth, 
The  upward-pointing  answers.     Finds  what  life  ? 
The  heart  still  urges,  and  for  answer  given 
Receives  the  beckoning  of  the  sculptured  portal. 
With  heart  upturned  and  chastened  soul  go  in ; 

II 


MORROW-SONGS 

The  world  shuts  down  behind,  and  thou  art  left 

Alone  in  presence  of  the  ineffable. 

The  very  light  is  not  the  light  of  day ; 

For  here  the  sun  shines  not,  but  living  light 

With  its  effulgence  glorifies  the  air, 

As  if  the  rainbow's  promise  filled  the  world. 

All  vistas  end  in  light ;  past  range  on  range 

Of  columns  down  the  illimitable  aisle 

A  glory  shuts  the  vision ;  while,  above, 

From  gloom  to  splendor  soar  the  vaulted  heights. 

To  right,  to  left,  the  air  is  dyed  with  hues, 

Rich,  darkling,  solemnly  magnificent^ 

Like  the  deep  organ  tones  that  from  aloft 

Roll  under  the  huge  vaults,  and  die  away 

Along  the  lessening  arches  dim  and  far. 

Hours  here  are  ages ;  time  has  oped  his  hand 

And  let  the  soul  fly  free ;  the  bounds  of  space 

Hem  its  light  wings  no  longer.     Where  and  when 

Have  lost  their  meaning  to  the  mind  entranced. 

Yea,  self  itself  is  lost ;  the  weary  soul, 

After  long  flight,  within  the  bosom  rests 

Of  the  eternal,  as  the  spray-flung  drop 

Sinks  back  in  ocean's  immensity. 

What  shall  bring  back  the  soul  to  earthly  life, 
After  such  heavenly  ravishment,  lest  it  faint, 
Being  clothed  upon  with  flesh,  in  that  fine  air  ? 
Beauty :  which  links  the  human  and  divine, 
12 


THE  GOTHIC  MINSTER 

And  lures  the  soul  on  heavenly  meads  astray 

Down  its  bright  pathways  to  humanity. 

At  last  the  eye  begins  with  separate  sight 

To  mark  what  wholly  had  but  dazzled  it. 

The  mind,  by  suddenness  of  the  splendor  stunned, 

Now  step  by  step  and  slowly  traverses 

The  strange  new  world  revealed ;  and  finds  it  all 

Not  wholly  new  or  strange.     The  forms  are  here 

That  build  the  forest's  awe,  the  cavern's  dread, 

And,  more  familiar  still,  the  lowlier  shapes 

Of  leaf  and  bud  and  flower,  with  vines  that  cling 

And  coil  and  twine  and  creep  and  nestle  or  climb  ; 

All  wrought  with  faithfulness  that  comes  alone 

To  love,  a  love  that  cherishes  the  life, 

Not  merely  the  dead  forms.     Then  the  mind's  eye 

Pictures  the  workman  of  that  elder  time 

On  Sunday  with  his  children  wandering 

In  wood  and  field,  and  noting  curve  and  poise 

Of  flower  and  leaf  and  stem,  while  constantly 

His  children  bring  him  brighter,  sweeter  blooms 

For  his  approval.     Wearying  at  last, 

They  lighten  with  their  songs  the  homeward  way. 

No  man  might  hope  to  see  the  pile  complete, 

But  yet  his  daily,  weekly,  yearly  task 

He  wrought  and  finished,  and  in  doing  it 

Found  happiness.     Toil  might  his  body  tire, 

But  in  his  heart  was  never  any  wish 

Save  to  renew  his  task  with  the  new  day ; 


MORROW-SONGS 

So  much  he  loved  the  work.     His  toil  to  him 
Was  recreation,  for  it  ministered 
To  mind  and  heart ;  in  it  his  thought  and  will 
Wrought  their  creative  impulse,  and  he  knew 
The  artist's  joy,  finding  in  art  his  life. 

Men  build  no  more  cathedrals  ;  —  walls  may  rise, 

With  tower  and  window,  and  be  consecrate 

To  the  old  purpose,  but  the  soul  is  fled. 

Small  need  the  cause  to  question.     Who  toils  now 

For  love  of  art,  with  high  creative  joy  ? 

No  laborer.     Then  in  vain  the  master  plans, 

Or,  rather,  vain  his  plan,  and  void  of  soul. 

Art  knows  no  sundering  of  the  hand  and  brain ; 

The  two  as  one  must  labor,  for  in  art 

The  greater  sinks  or  rises  with  the  less. 

But,  given  the  art,  should  we  be  able  still 

To  lift  such  clouds  of  incense  to  the  sky, 

By  marble  less  than  faith  made  permanent  ? 

The  question  holds  its  answer ;  for  the  faith 

That  bade  these  mountains  be  removed  and  wrought 

Into  new  shapes  of  heavenlier  loveliness 

Is  dead  on  earth,  never  to  live  again. 

That  faith  is  dead  ;  light  slew  it ;  when  men  came 

To  know  the  world  they  live  in,  and  themselves, 

The  faith  that  pointed  them  away  from  earth, 

And  bade  them  scorn  and  flee  it,  could  not  live. 

With  all  the  beauty  and  the  nameless  charm 

14 


THE  GOTHIC  MINSTER 

And  soothing  of  the  soul  and  inspiration 
And  lessons,  which  their  monuments  retain, 
The  old  beliefs  of  twilight,  when  day  dawned, 
Must  needs  grow  thin  and  vanish  like  the  night. 
That  faith  is  dead  which  made  the  earth  a  waste, 
And  man's  life  but  a  desert  pilgrimage 
O'er  burning  sands  and  flinty  shards  to  find 
Beyond  its  bounds  a  Paradise  and  rest. 
That  faith  is  dead  which  in  the  body  saw 
Only  the  spirit's  prison,  a  house  of  sin, 
To  be  escaped  from,  not  indwelt  with  joy. 
That  faith  is  dead,  with  its  black  pessimism, 
Which  deemed  this  world  the  devil's  world,  and  then, 
That  men  might  not  die  wholly  in  despair, 
Fashioned  a  heaven  for  earth's  apology. 
That  faith  is  dead,  but  its  dark  influence 
Yet  shadows  us.     Now  men  discern  at  last 
That  whatsoever  other  lives  and  worlds 
Within  the  unrevealed  may  wait  for  man, 
Yet  is  this  earth  his  home,  the  theatre, 
Where,  and  not  elsewhere,  he  must  play  his  part ;  — 
So  much  is  sure ;  the  rest  is  dread  or  hope ;  — 
How  do  men  greet  this  knowledge  ?     How  for  this 
Has  the  old  faith  prepared  them  ?     Alas  !  the  heart, 
In  the  long  years  wherein  the  mind  has  grown 
To  stature  and  strength  of  manhood,  has  been  fed 
On  childish  food,  and  in  its  weakliness 
Staggers  beneath  the  burden.     Some  men  therefore 

15 


MORROW-SONGS 

Rush  out  of  life,  preferring  any  change, 
Or  nothingness  itself,  to  life  on  earth. 
Others,  like  wolves,  against  their  fellows  turn 
And  rend  the  weak  and  wounded,  feasting  on  them. 
Others,  retreating  to  the  charnel  house 
Of  the  dead  faith,  pretend  that  life  is  there. 
But  most  men  to  themselves  seem  aimlessly 
Hurrying  to  and  fro  and  finding  naught. 

Yet,  unto  one  who  from  the  minster  tower 
Looks  down  along  the  centuries  to  the  ground, 
They  seem  to  move  in  common ;  and  the  sight 
Awakes  within  his  heart  a  faith,  to  which 
That  elder  faith  was  childish  fantasy. 
What  the  new  life  shall  be  toward  which  men  move 
No  tongue  can  tell,  for  it  no  eye  hath  seen ; 
But  whence  they  move  is  clear;  therefore  in  part 
The  whither  we  may  guess.     Away  from  hate, 
Away  from  violence,  men  slowly  draw, 
And  leave  behind  the  huddling  fear  of  force, 
Which  sinks  in  mass  the  individual, 
And  leave  the  vapors  of  world-ignorance, 
Whereon  man  saw  his  morning  shadow  thrown, 
And  fell  before  its  vastness,  worshiping ; 
And  leave  with  every  lie  some  love  of  lies. 
Hence  deem  we  kindliness  and  brotherhood, 
Respect  for  others  born  of  self-respect, 
And  bold  research  in  room  of  cringing  awe, 
16 


THE  GOTHIC  MINSTER 

Shall  have  their  home  in  that  new  world  men  seek ; 
And  though  on  earth  they  seek  it,  is  it  less 
Than  that  celestial  city  which  John  saw 
Descending  out  of  heaven  unto  men, 
Wherein  was  no  defilement,  no  more  curse, 
Abomination,  lie  in  love  or  deed, 
Sorrow  nor  crying  more,  nor  any  night, 
But  blessedness  and  healing  of  the  nations  ? 
No  temple  stood  therein ;  for  in  that  world 
Symbol  in  sight  is  lost.     There  the  eternal 
Is  manifest  in  full-flowered  human  life, 
Which  finds  itself  in  the  eternal  found. 
More  we  cannot  discern,  and  if  we  saw 
We  could  but  misinterpret ;  but  no  doubt 
That  newer  life  will  bring  its  new  ideals, 
New  character,  new  conduct,  new  religion ; 
Which  if  revealed  to  us  were  meaningless 
Or  profanation.     Let  us  be  content 
With  what  the  far  height  of  the  tower  unfolds 
Of  man's  divine  progression. 

If,  in  times 
When  all  things  change,  our  hearts  distrust  and 

doubt, 

Turn  we  to  where  the  Gothic  minster  lifts 
Its  cross  above  the  ages,  and  there  learn 
How  through  the  old  life's  death  the  new  is  born : 
A  thousand  years  one  order  ruled  the  world, 


MORROW-SONGS 

One  form  for  every  temple,  wrought  upon 
The  hard  lines  of  the  Roman's  hall  of  state. 
It  added  first  the  symbol  of  the  cross, 
Then  arched  the  mighty  dome  of  heaven's  peace ; 
The  walls  reached  out  their  level  length,  and  stood 
In  strength  a  bulwark  against  all  the  world ; 
While,  like  a  lower  firmament,  the  roof, 
Expansive,  low,  benignly  sheltering, 
Shut  out  the  world  above  from  that  beneath ; 
On  every  window  pressed  the  rounded  arch, 
And  all  was  strong  and  stable  and  secure. 
At  last,  with  change  of  times,  the  order  changed  : 
The  windows  robbed  the  wall's  supremacy, 
Grown  wider,  yet  aspiring  far  aloft 
In  slender  shafts  that  broke  the  restful  lines 
Of  level,  broken  further  by  supports 
To  prop  the  weakened  sides.     The  roof,  upheaved 
As  by  a  strong  convulsion,  cleft  the  air 
A  wedge,  no  more  a  shelter.     Losing  power 
To  lift  great  domes  in  air,  men  reared  instead 
Dizzy  and  toppling  spires.     Even  the  round 
Of  the  strong  arch  was  broken,  and  the  whole, 
To  hide  its  death,  was  draped  with  carven  flowers. 
So,  when  at  Amiens  change  had  wrought  its  worst, 
In  the  completed  pile  no  trace  was  left 
Of  the  old  meaning ;  and,  to  eyes  that  saw 
After  the  ancient  order,  seemed  alone 
Ruin,  where  we  behold  the  full-blown  rose 
18 


THE  GOTHIC  MINSTER 

Of  Gothic  beauty,  and  discern  therein 
Meanings  that  more  transcend  what  they  displaced 
Than  those  the  coldness  of  the  Roman  hall. 
The  elder  order  built  with  lifeless  weight 
Of  stone  on  stone  against  the  outer  light ; 
With  all  its  strength  it  perished ;  but  the  new 
Abides,  which  builds  with  life  and  light  and  love. 


THE  CONQUEROR* 

A  KNIGHT  withouten  golden  spurs, 
Or  shield  or  plumy  crest, 
Or  axe  or  brand  to  take  in  hand, 
Or  lance  to  lay  in  rest ; 

A  knight  for  whom  no  champing  steed 
Impatient  paws  the  ground ; 

By  squire  unfollowed,  and  by  rede 
Of  minstrel  unrenowned ; 

No  lordly  mould  of  brow  or  limb, 

Nor  eye's  imperial  ken, 
Nor  grace  of  speech  distinguish  him 

Above  his  fellow-men  ; 


*  From  this  point  onward  the  poems  are  arranged  in  order  of  time. 

19 


MORROW-SONGS 

And  they  that  see  him  day  by  day, 
With  eyes  of  outward  sight, 

Have  never  guessed  he  rideth  quest 
Or  hath  been  dubbed  a  knight. 

But  weary  eye  and  weary  arm 
And  heart  world-overworn 

Bespeak  how  near  hope  lies  to  fear, 
While  blows  yet  must  be  borne. 


Oh  1  couldst  thou  deem  that  at  the  last 
Thy  God  would  leave  thee  so  ? 

Hark  to  the  heavenly  trumpet  blast, 
The  death-knell  of  thy  foe  ! 

Mankind  at  length  are  open-eyed, 

And,  all  along  the  sky, 
Behold  their  beacon-fires  that  wide 

Proclaim  thy  victory. 

For  only  Truth  can  triumph  long, 
And  they  that  work  its  will 

Then  conquer  most  when  foemcn  boast 
Their  bodies  slain  and  still. 


20 


JOHN  BROWN 


JOHN  BROWN 

THE  sea-bound  landsman,  looking  back  to  shore, 
Now  learns  what  land  is  highest ; — not  the  ring 

Of  hills  that  erewhile  shut  out  everything 
Beyond  them  from  him  ;  these  are  seen  no  more  ; 
Nor  yet  the  loftier  heights  that,  from  the  lower, 

He  saw  far  inland,  blue,  and,  worshiping, 

Believed  they  touched  the  sky ;  the  gull's  white 

wing 

Long  since  flashed  o'er  them  sunk  in  the  sea-floor. 
These  were  but  uplands  hiding  the  true  height, 

Which  looms  above  them  as  they  sink,  and  rears 
Its  greatness  ever  greater  on  the  sight. 

So  thou,  across  the  widening  sea  of  years, 
Aye  risest  great,  as  on  through  gloom  and  bright 

Our  tossing  bark  of  Progress  sunward  steers. 


THE  SOWERS 

THERE  went  three  sowers  forth  to  sow, 
In  the  shining  days  when  the  earth  was  young ; 
One  scarfed  with  the  dawning-light  did  go, 
For  out  of  the  east  his  steps  had  sprung ; 
And  seeds  of  knowledge  he  bore  in  his  hand 
To  scatter  broadcast  over  the  land. 

21 


MORROW-SONGS 

Another  came  from  the  midday  heat, 
And  seeds  of  beauty  he  sowed  afar ; 

Resplendent  vapors  rolled  at  his  feet, 

And  his  brows  were  bright  as  the  sun-lands  are  ; 

To  the  lands  of  midnight  away  he  strode, 

And  the  dawn  and  the  gloaming  beneath  him  glowed. 

The  third  came  out  of  the  star-lit  north, 

With  the  rush  of  winds  and  of  waters  he  came  ; 

And  seeds  of  duty  he  scattered  forth, 

Far-flung  like  the  northern  dayspring's  flame ; 

Till  dale  and  hillside,  from  sea  to  sea, 

Were  bright  with  the  bloom  of  his  husbandry. 

But  that  was  ages  and  ages  gone, 

The  sowers  are  now  at  rest  from  their  toil ; 
The  threefold  harvest  is  drawing  on, 

For  the  dry  stalks  clash  o'er  a  withered  soil. 
Already  the  reapers  throng  amain 
With  shining  sickles  among  the  grain. 

For  out  of  the  west  the  reapers  pour 

To  reap  the  harvest  the  three  have  sown, 

To  bind  the  sheaves  for  the  threshing-floor, 
Where  history's  fruit  shall  at  last  be  shown  ; 

And  beauty,  knowledge,  and  duty  then 

Shall  yield  their  bread  for  the  life  of  men. 

22 


E 


PROGRESS 


PROGRESS 

NLARGED  horizons,  ampler  life,  are  gains 
Less  than  their  proof  mankind   still  onward 
strains. 

REFORM 

HALT  !  hear  ye  not  the  cry, 
That  voice  not  loud  nor  high, 
But  a  mighty  undertone, 
From  the  four  winds  of  heaven  blown  ? 
Hark  !  ye  can  hear  it  now, 
The  sound  men  heard  of  yore, 
Making  the  tyrant  bow, 
And  crumbling  sceptre  and  throne. 
Hark  to  the  gathering  roar, 
And  flee  from  the  coming  storm. 
Reform,  reform,  reform  ! 

What !  an  ye  will  not  hear, 
Look  the  horizon  round, 
See  how  the  wroth  clouds  rear 
Their  blackness  from  the  ground. 
The  blue  sky  shrivels  in  dread, 
It  is  furled  as  a  sail  is  furled ; 
There  are  fiery  bolts  to  be  sped, 

23 


MORROW-SONGS 

For  the  vengeance  waxeth  warm, 
For  justice  wakes  on  the  world, 
And  woe  to  the  guilty  head. 
Reform,  reform,  reform  ! 

Nay,  it  is  now  too  late  ! 
Ye  heed,  but  we  cannot  wait ; 
The  tempest  has  drawn  too  nigh ; 
Its  threaded  lightnings  ply, 
And  a  fiery  shroud  they  weave. 
Fools,  ye  would  not  believe, 
Ye  doubted,  and  ye  must  die. 
Ye  vanish,  and  where  ye  stood 
The  hosts  of  the  upright  swarm, 
Their  battle-cry  made  good : 
Reform,  reform,  reform  ! 


THE  THINKER 

\  PURBLIND  mole  bored  underneath  a  stone, 
JLjLA  castle's  corner-stone.  Then  came  a  storm 
And  swept  the  stronghold  to  the  ground,  and  men 
Wondered  a  wind  should  have  such  power  to  smite. 


HEAVEN 


HEAVEN 

OUT  of  the  world  of  illusion  into  the  world  of 
truth, 

From  the  world  of  change  and  dying  to  the  world 
of  fadeless  youth ; 

Where  the  eye  of  man  unclouded  shall  look  on 
things  that  are, 

And  the  heart  of  man  unwithered  be  free  from  sor- 
row and  care, 

And  the  life  of  man,  unfettered  by  bonds  of  time 
and  space, 

Shall  bloom  as  a  god's,  unsleeping,  yea,  lit  by 
God's  own  face. 

O  Father,  't  is  that  fair  kingdom  Thy  hands  have 
wrought  for  men ; 

From  Thee  was  their  beginning,  to  Thee  they  re- 
turn again. 

But  forget  not,  O  heart  anhungered,  that  now, 
and  here  on  the  earth, 

Mayst  thou  dwell  in  that  heavenly  city,  mayst 
thou  see  with  the  soul's  new  birth ; 

For  whoso  liveth  and  striveth  in  service  of  truth 
and  of  love, 

To  him  yieldeth  earth  already  the  blessings  prom- 
ised above. 


MORROW-SONGS 


LIFE 

LIFE  is  a  passage  o'er  a  stream 
That  bridge  nor  ferry  owns ; 
Which  we  must  cross,  in  gloom  or  gleam, 
On  slippery  stepping-stones. 


RECOGNITION 

AT  twenty, "  Dreamer,"  pitying  neighbors  said  ; 
At  thirty,  "  Fool,"  the  harsher  title  came ; 
At  forty,  "  Crank,"  men  sneered  with  scorn  and 

blame  ; 

But  still  the  genius  toiled  with  unbowed  head, 
Wide  sowing  seed  that  none  saw  harvested, 
Till,  by  and  by,  at  fifty,  some  cried  u  Shame  ! 
Respect  at  least  is  due  a  noble  aim." 
So  called  him  "  Mister  "  guardedly  instead. 
At  sixty,  one  must  harvest,  wheat  or  chaff; 

And  now  't  was  "  the  Distinguished "  that  he 

heard. 

At  seventy,  fields  are  reaped,  the  winners  laugh  ; 
And  he  had  won  ;  "  the  Great  "  was  now  men's 

word. 

At  eighty,  they  inscribed  c  His  fame  folds  in 
This  orb  o'  the  earth.'  Yea,  who  but  dreamers  win  ? 
26 


INDIGNATION 


INDIGNATION 

SHOCK  old  proprieties,  cross  local  forms, — 
How  Indignation  in  a  moment  storms ! 
Lie,  cheat,  bribe,  steal,  thrust  orphans  out  of  doors, — 
And  Indignation  in  its  arm-chair  snores. 


H 


TEMPTATION 

ER  his  divine  scorn  back  to  virtue  won ; 
He  by  his  second  temptress  was  undone. 

HOME* 


HAIL,  Mother  of  us  all !  from  sea  and  shore 
Thy  children  gather  round  thy  knees  once 
more ; 

The  faithful  ones  that  never  left  thy  side, 
And  they  whose  feet  have  wandered  far  and  wide. 
How  dear  these  love  thee,  in  thy  sheltering  nest, 
Thy  happier  children,  all  their  lives  attest  j 
But  they  no  less  that  under  alien  skies 
In  tearful  memory  mark  thy  homes  arise. 

*  Read  at  the  centennial  celebration  of  the  town  of  Freeport,  Maine, 
July  fourth,  1889. 

27 


MORROW-SONGS 

The  fevered  sailor  on  the  Spanish  Main 

Sees  in  thy  springs  his  boyhood's  face  again. 

The  homeless  toiler  'mid  the  city's  roar 

In  midnight  watches  visits  thee  once  more, 

Retraces  every  step  his  childhood  trod, 

And  in  his  garret  plucks  thy  goldenrod, 

Or  breathes  the  fragrance  of  the  mayflower  meek 

One  moment  that  blots  out  the  city's  reek ; 

And  even  those  whose  sun  sets  in  the  sea 

Prairie  and  mountain  cannot  part  from  thee. 

Serener,  softer  skies  may  arch  above, 

Thy  children  yield  them  a  divided  love. 

Let  now  the  homage  all  have  paid  so  long 

In  grateful  silence,  voice  itself  in  song, 

While  flock  thy  nurselings  from  the  ends  of  earth 

To  greet  thee  on  thy  second  century's  birth. 

O  Mother  Town,  thy  children  love  thee  well, — 
For  what  they  love  thee  let  our  praises  tell. 
Thy  skies  we  love,  whether  they  laugh  with  blue, 
Or  frown  with  clouds  the  tempest  hurtles  through  ; 
For  sheltering  still  their  vastness  o'er  thee  bends, 
A  shield  whose  dome  from  hill  to  sea  extends. 
Thy  hills  we  love,  whose  granite  ridges  show 
Westward  the  summits  of  late-lingering  snow; 
Themselves  to  eastward  many  a  watery  mile 
The  sailor's  promise  of  his  children's  smile. 
How  oft,  far  inland,  gray-beard  sons  of  thine, 
28 


HOME 

Catching  the  scent  of  rope  or  tarry  twine, 
Have  felt  the  odor  in  a  flash  restore 
Thy  river-port,  the  shipyards  on  the  shore  ! 
Again  the  mallets  ply  their  clattering  din, 
The  tackles  chirp,  the  screeching  planes  join  in, 
While  from  the  sooty  cauldron  spreads  afar 
The  wholesome  fragrance  of  the  boiling  tar. 
They  see  the  boys  with  mimic  boats  at  play, 
The  white  sails  flashing  in  the  outer  bay, 
With  wooded  islands  peeping  still  beyond, 
Enchanted  isles,  the  gates  of  "faery  lond." 
Yea,  dear  is  Haraseket's  blue  expanse  ; 
Dear  also  every  brooklet's  foamy  dance, 
Dusking  and  dimpling  down  the  wooded  hills, 
Where  streaming  moss  its  frolic  tinkle  stills. 
We  love  thy  spruces,  hemlocks,  and  thy  firs, 
Cross-bearing,  but  unwearied  worshipers ; 
Thy  maples,  Autumn's  chariot  of  fire, 
Thy  royal  elms  that  robed  in  gold  expire ;  , 
And  even  the  wild  roses  by  the  way 
Our  memories  cherish  many  a  thorny  day. 

The  ships  that  make  thy  name  no  longer  strange 
Wherever  commerce  and  its  ventures  range, 
These  love  we  ;  but  our  warmer  love  arouse 
The  manly  hearts  that  urge  their  frothing  prows 
Nor  these  alone,  but  all  the  sons  of  toil 
That  reap  God's  harvests  in  the  wave  or  soil. 

29 


MORROW-SONGS 

Such  are  earth's  noblemen.     In  after-time, 
When  Right  shall  reckon  idleness  a  crime, 
Who  earns  not  shall  not  eat,  nor  any  knave 
Shall  make  by  law  his  fellow-man  his  slave; 
For  God's  great  granary  of  earth  shall  be 
No  longer  fenced,  but,  as  the  winds  are,  free. 
What  sturdy  sons  thy  lap  hath  given  to  fame 
Where  learning  builds,  let  Rochester  proclaim. 
What  inspiration  from  thy  fields  hath  sprung 
To  lend  art  hues  and  piety  a  tongue, — 
Hark  to  the  champion  of  the  Rising  Faith, 
Hear  what  QEnone's  pictured  beauty  saith  ! 

Our  pulses  leap,  we  glow  with  filial  pride, 
Yet  is  unspoken  more  than  all  beside. 
O  brave  young  souls  who  at  your  country's  call 
Gave  life  itself,  and  deemed  the  offering  small, 
If  you  we  name  not  this  memorial  day 
May  tyrants  filch  our  liberties  away. 
Ah  no  !  your  fame  is  blazoned  on  the  sky ; 
Your  lives  ye  lost  to  find  eternally. 
And  oh  !  the  sainted,  nameless,  unforgot 
Sweet  souls  that  live,  though  now  we  see  them  not, 
Whose  lives  were  love  to  daily  duty  set, 
Whose  prayers,  we  know,  are  not  all  answered  yet, 
Whose  memories  blossom  o'er  their  dust  entombed, 
As  Aaron's  rod,  long  dead,  to  fragrance   bloomed. 
*T  is  these  that  teach  us  what  of  thine  we  prize, — 
30 


HOME 

Not  chiefly  nature's  boon  of  fields  and  skies, 
Which  other  climes  in  richer  store  extend, 
Unclouded  heavens,  and  harvests  without  end, 
Where,  free  from  blight  of  frost  and  suns  that  sear, 
Perpetual  spring  leads  round  the  laughing  year. 
Such  blessings  here  we  need  not,  satisfied 
With  one  chief  good  that  beggars  all  beside. 
For  here,  our  lives,  though  wide  they  learn  to  roam, 
Find  last,  as  first,  and  only  here,  the  Home. 

Resting  on  earth,  but  leading  up  to  heaven, 
Like  Bethel's  ladder,  home  to  man  was  given. 
First  ray  of  love  in  self's  benighted  life, 
The  care  for  other  self  in  maid  and  wife ; 
Then  pity  quickened  for  the  crying  child, 
Last,  duty  ;  and  the  man  that  roamed  the  wild, 
Chief  brute  in  cunning,  but  with  death  his  goal, 
Breathed  on  by  God  became  a  living  soul. 
O  childhood's  home,  what  memories  haunt  thy 

name ! 

Of  prayers  the  mother  taught  when  twilight  came, 
Her  kiss  that  cheered  the  urchin's  steps  to  school, 
The  father's  praise  where  silence  was  the  rule, 
The  mysteries  of  morning,  noon,  and  night, 
Transfigured  all  by  love's  celestial  light, 
When  all  the  world  was  new,  and  all  was  good, 
And  midmost  of  the  world  the  household  stood. 
Wide  now  the  world  has  grown,  but  not  so  wide 

3' 


MORROW-SONGS 

As  oft  the  gulf  that  parts  men  side  by  side. 
Though  petty  seem  the  joys  which  then  we  knew, 
They  filled  our  hearts,  as  now  what  triumphs  do  ? 
Yea,  toil  itself  was  pleasure,  for  the  work 
Was  done  in  love,  and  not  as  hirelings  shirk. 
Here  beauty  wrought,  revealing  heaven's  design 
That  only  service  can  make  life  divine ; 
And  well  had  wrought  if  never  stranger's  gaze 
Had  waked  the  great  world's  chorus  of  its  praise. 
Here  sturdy  yeomen,  toiling  without  shame, 
Amassed  the  riches  of  an  honest  name, 
And  taught  their  sons  to  walk  where  they  had  trod, 
Speak  truth,  and  love  their  country  and  their  God. 

Beloved  town,  with  gladness  we  discern 
How  fortune  smiles  on  thee  at  every  turn, 
And  trust  that  all  its  present  favor  brings 
Is  but  the  earnest  of  still  goodlier  things  ; 
Yet  on  this  day,  the  fulness  of  thy  years, 
One  word  the  poet  brings  not  free  from  fears. 
Dear  Home  Town,  let  men  ever  call  thee  so ; 
Guard  well  the  fount  from  which  thy  virtues  flow. 
Only  thy  homes  can  rear  thee  manly  sons 
And  daughters  gentle,  as  thine  earlier  ones. 
Only  thy  homes,  when  dawns  this  day  again, 
Can  bring  thee  love  like  ours  from  future  men. 
O  Land  of  Homes,  amid  the  storms  to  fall, 
No  fear  be  thine  if  thou  hast  homes  for  all. 
32 


HOME 

Assured  of  this,  let  drowning  rains  descend, 
And  all  the  winds  their  wrath  against  thee  bend ; 
The  fleeting  sands  may  shift  with  every  shock, 
Not  thou,  for  thou  art  founded  on  a  rock. 
O  Mother  Earth,  then  blooms  thy  perfect  flower 
Only  when  perfect  homes  prepare  the  hour ; 
The  perfect  flower  of  Earth,  the  perfect  pair, 
Whose  Eden  yet  awaits  them  everywhere ! 

As  Europe's  vast  cathedrals,  piled  in  stone, 
Displaced  the  trees  that  on  their  sites  had  grown, 
Yet  in  their  aisles  and  arches  but  renewed 
The  living  outlines  of  the  primal  wood, 
Even  so  our  dreams  of  human  life  at  best, — 
Mankind  restored,  its  demons  dispossessed, 
Where  labor  waits  on  health  and  joy  and  truth, 
And  beauty  finds  in  love  eternal  youth, — 
Our  visions,  as  they  shape  themselves  in  air, 
And  clearer  grow,  familiar  faces  wear, 
Till,  when  at  last  their  structure  rounds  to  view, 
'T  is  only  the  old  home-life  builded  new. 


33 


MORROW-SONGS 
THE  OUTLOOK 

BY  A  CONSERVATIVE 

WHEN  I  was  young  I  sighed  for  fame, 
And  burned  the  midnight  oil ; 
But,  now  I  'm  old,  my  blood  is  tame, 
I  sit  and  nurse  the  sea-coal's  flame, 
And  read  how  others  toil. 

Here  Henry  George,  for  all  he  's  worth, 

Proclaims  his  one  taxation, 
Crusading  to  set  free  the  earth, 
And  make  the  loafer,  rich  from  birth, 

Dismount  his  poor  relation. 

There  Bellamy,  another  crank, 

Fiction  with  fact  would  mingle ; 
He  sees  that  men  in  file  and  rank, 
Like  oars  arranged  in  tier  and  bank, 
Beat  twice  their  number  single. 

And  so  the  great  industrial  mob 

He  'd  mold  into  an  army, 
And  send  it  forth  to  kill  and  rob 
Famine  and  Surfeit,  which  hobnob, 

While  discontent  grows  barmy. 


34 


THE  OUTLOOK 

u  Amen  !  "  cries  Boston's  Dawn  of  Bliss, 

"  But  don't  be  too  paternal. 
Fraternal  the  true  watchword  is. 
Man  in  management  to  miss 

Were  tyranny  infernal." 

Yonder  Macready  calls,  whose  cue 
Seems  caught  from  sport,  not  killing, 

"  See  how  the  players  dare  and  do ; 

What  order,  yet  what  ardor  too ! 
Because  each  part  is  willing." 

He  'd  have  no  man  controlled  by  man, — 

Police  or  politician ; 
For  each  will  do  the  best  he  can, 
Simply  through  fear  of  public  ban, 

Or  hope  of  recognition. 

So  be  holds ;  and  this  loose-hung  state 

He  calls  ideal  freedom ; 
Where  men  may  join  or  separate, 
Live  gods  or  beasts,  in  love  or  hate, 

As  happiness  shall  lead  'em. 

The  poet  Morris,  oversea, 

Sick  of  civilization, 
Dreams  how  England's  wealth  may  be 
Common  wealth,  and  Britons  free 

Even  from  education. 

35 


MORROW-SONGS 

In  Germany  upstarts  Mackay, 

The  monarch  self  proclaiming, 
Across  the  Storm  a  steadying  cry, 
A  torch  to  lighten  earth  and  sky, 
For  equal  freedom  flaming. 

u  Bravo  !  "  shouts  Tucker,  looking  up 

Above  the  Transatlantic. 
"  That 's  Liberty  ;  that 's  Proudhon's  cup, 
Whereof  when  nations  learn  to  sup, 

Their  greatness  grows  gigantic." 

Last,  Sullivan  exclaims  serene : 

"  God  bless  you  all,  my  hearties  !  " 
Deuce  take  them,  I  say,  for  I  've  seen 
Too  much  reform  to  care  a  bean 
For  any  of  their  parties. 

I  '11  wager  if  I  had  'em  here, 

Well  fed,  with  none  that  know  by, 

Two  fingers  round  a  glass  of  beer, 

Some  good  havanas  lying  near, 
They  'd  give  the  crowd  the  go-by. 

I  'd  wager,  yet  I  won't  be  sure ; 

I  own  I  can't  quite  place  them. 
You  'd  really  think  they  love  the  poor, 
Gold  seems  powerless  to  allure, 

Or  honors  to  debase  them. 

36 


THE  OUTLOOK 


'T  was  like  this  in  the  tiresome  days 

We  now  call  ante-bellum ; 
Garrison  setting  all  ablaze, 
And  Beecher  drowning  Parker's  brays, 

With  Phillips  to  outyell  'em ; 

Whittier  hounding  us  in  rhyme, 

And  Mrs.  Stowe  in  fiction, 
And  Lowell  with  them  keeping  time, 
But  trying  to  disguise  his  crime 
Beneath  the  rabble's  diction. 

I  promise  these  the  self-same  fate. 

Who  now  spouts  abolition  ? 
Just  so  you  '11  see,  if  you  but  wait, 
A  time  when  fools  no  longer  prate 

About  the  poor's  condition. 


APPRECIATION 

T  T  7E  crowned  with  thorns  the  living  hero's  brow ; 
VV  But  see,  we  deck  his  grave  with  roses  now. 

Now!  while  the  very  stones  from  which  he  bled 
Climb  to  a  monument  above  his  head. 


37 


MORROW-SONGS 


THE  PIONEER 

HERE  shall  be  smiling  fields,  where  now  the  fell 
And  ravening  wolf  howls  to  his  echoed  howl ; 
Babies    shall    prattle   where    couched    panthers 

growl, 

And  lovers  clip  and  coo  in  many  a  dell 
Which  now  the  savage  wakes  with  midnight  yell 
To  blood  and  flame  and  frenzied  orgies  foul. 
Already  light  breaks  in  on  bat  and  owl 
O'er  crashing  trees.    The  settler's  axe  aims  well. 

How  desperate  are  beginnings  !     But,  at  last, 
Where  one  and  then  a  hundred  sadly  wrought, 

Throng,  on  a  sudden,  millions,  and  the  past 
Becomes  heroic,  with  men's  praises  fraught. 

Take  my  praise  now,  while  still  thy  toils  loom  vast, 
Lone  outpost  on  the  far  frontier  of  thought. 


T 


THE  HIGHER  HARMONY 

HE  soul  attuned  to  music  of  the  spheres 
Strikes  often  discords  unto  earthly  ears. 


NUMBERS 


NUMBERS 

THE  crowd  is  always  on  the  side  of  truth  ; 
But  commonly  not  long  before  the  truth 
Has  in  that  special  form  become  a  lie. 


THE  HEAVENLY  VISION 

WHEN  I  am  dead, 
May  this  with  truth  be  said, 
On  the  rude  stone  that  marks  my  lowly  head, 
That,  spite  of  doubt  and  indecision, 
In  spite  of  weakness,  lameness,  blindness, 
Heart's  treachery  and  fate's  unkindness, 
Neglect  of  friends  and  scorn  of  foes, 
Stark  poverty  and  all  its  woes, 
The  body's  ills  that  clog  the  mind 
And  the  bold  spirit  bind, 
Still  through  my  earthly  course  I  went, 

"Not  disobedient 
Unto  the  heavenly  vision" 


39 


MORROW-SONGS 


MY  WASHERWOMAN 

1LI VE  at  the  upper  end  of  the  street, 
Where  the  ground  is  clean  and  the  air  is  sweet, 
But  all  I  can  see  is  a  patch  of  sky, 
And  lawns  and  painted  walls  hard  by. 
My  washerwoman  lives  at  the  end 
Where  street  and  people  downward  tend ; 
Where  the  air  is  full  of  sickly  smells 
And  unkempt,  squabbling  children's  yells  ; 
But,  all  day  long,  from  her  dingy  room, 
She  can  look  where  earth's  first  mountains  loom, 
Beyond  the  broad  and  living  lake, 
Whose  deeps  the  sunset  splendors  take. 

She  looks,  but,  ah  !  she  cannot  see, 
So  blinding  is  her  poverty. 
On  pain  and  hunger,  heat  and  frost, 
The  pomp  of  earth  and  sky  is  lost. 

And  I  that  haste  the  foul  street  through, 
Envying  her  its  wealth  of  view, 
I  know  that  if  some  ill  desert 
Should  doom  me  to  its  noise  and  dirt, 
The  change  would  bring  me  loss,  not  gain, 
Though  hourly  through  my  narrow  pane 

40 


MY  WASHERWOMAN 

I  saw  those  primal  mountains  rise, 
As  proudly  peerless  to  the  skies 
As  when  adown  their  slopes  of  old 
The  parted  waters  wallowing  rolled. 


THE  CHURCH  PROGRESSIVE 

THE  Church  advances ;  to  each  new  position 
Man's  marching  spirit  takes  she  hobbles  fast, 
Asserting  shrill  the  hour  she  finds  admission, 
That  here  she  had  her  home  through  all  the  past. 


FAILURE 

YES,  I  succeeded,  and  have  men's  praise, 
And  cannot  escape  it  all  my  days. 
My  rival  failed  ;  —  but  every  age 
Shall  thrill  at  the  task  he  dared  engage. 


AFTER-LIFE 

OF  any  other  life  than  this  we  lead 
Now  on  the  earth,  nothing  we  know  indeed ; 
But  having  this  life,  with  its  depth  and  range, 
We  know  not  whence,  why  seems  another  strange  ? 

41 


MORROW-SONGS 


PRIESTCRAFT 

AT  Bruno's,  Lessing's,  Rousseau's  monument 
Priests  glower  aloof,  their  sullen  spite  to  vent 
Against  those  Sons  of  Dawn  ;  for  well  they  wot 
When  priestcraft  dies  its  memory  shall  rot. 


INHERITANCE 

OUR  godly  fathers  from  the  body  stole 
Comfort  and  beauty,  to  enrich  the  soul. 
We,  starved  and  stunted  beneath  rigor's  frown, 
Our  souls  in  riot  of  the  senses  drown. 


WHAT  SHALL  IT  PROFIT?* 
i. 

AN  EARLY  PHYSICIAN 

IF  I  lay  waste  and  wither  up  with  doubt 
The  confidence  men  have  that  fleshly  ills 
Are  the  invasion  of  a  demon  rout 

Whose  fury  charm  or  incantation  stills, 


*  Suggested  by  Mr.  Howells's  poem  in  Harpers  Magazine  for  Feb- 
ruary, 1891. 

42 


WHAT  SHALL  IT  PROFIT  ? 


What  shall  it  profit  ?  for  the  sick  are  healed 
Oft  with  these  if  not  by  them,  and  shall  I 

Disturb  men's  faith,  who  have  no  help  to  yield, 
And  leave  the  sick  in  their  despair  to  cry  ? 

II. 

DOUBT 

This  profit  is  in  doubt :  until  men  fear 

They  trust  a  lie,  who  will  strive  truth  to  find? 
And  what  is  faith  but  holding  truth  so  dear 

We  welcome  doubt  lest  some  lie  lurk  behind  ? 
The  truth  abides ;  to  halt  with  doubt  perplexed 

Is  the  first  step  toward  the  truth's  finding  out. 
Though  one  road  fail,  the  next,  or  next,  or  next 

Shall  lead  to  truth ;  for  men  are  saved  by  doubt. 


RICHES 

FREEDOM  the  wood-nymph  in  a  marish  found 
A  gilded  asp,  with  glittering  jeweled  crest 
And  eyes  of  light.     So  gracefully  it  coiled, 
With  rainbow  shimmer  playing  o'er  its  gold, 
That  Freedom,  charmed,  took  up  the  lissome  toy, 
And  let  it  coil  about  her  sloping  wrist, 
And  span  her  neck,  and  make  its  pliant  nest 

43 


MORROW-SONGS 

Among  the  soft  curves  of  her  youthful  bosom. 
For  what  should  white-armed  Freedom  dream  of  ill ! 
Now  lies  she  low,  a  purple-spotted  corpse, 
Poisoning  the  air,  dead  without  sign  of  wound. 
But  those  that  nearer  drew  tell  how  they  saw 
A  mark  as  of  a  tooth  above  the  spot 
Where  once  beat  Freedom's  heart. 


PRUDENCE 

INTO  Truth's  abandoned  camp 
Prudence  mounts  with  martial  tramp, 
Celebrates  a  victory  vast ; 
While  the  Truth,  unseen,  has  passed 
Onward  in  its  desperate  fight 
With  the  cohorts  of  the  Night. 


EXTREMES 

TRUTH  is  found  in  extremes  ;  't  is  only  expe- 
dience, prudence, 

Hug  the  mean,  and  call  it  truth,  and  their  palter- 
ing, wisdom. 
Both  extremes  may  be  true,  but  the  mean,  from  its 

very  nature, 
Always  has  been,  is,  and  must  forever  be  untrue. 

44 


THE  WAIL  OF  THE  WOUNDED 


THE  WAIL  OF  THE  WOUNDED 

AFTER  the  Gettysburg  fight, 
When  war  had  ceased  with  the  night, 
Uncared-for  the  wounded  lay, 
Where  they  fell  in  the  bloody  fray, 
Ten  thousand  on  every  side, 
With  the  myriad  more  that  died. 
But  oh  !  the  chorus  of  pain 
That  rose  from  hillside  and  plain, 
A  vast,  intermingled  groan, 
Shriek  and  howling  and  moan, 
A  volume  that  crowded  the  air, 
Agony,  anguish,  despair, 
In  billows  that  rose  and  sank, 
Till  my  soul  became  a  blank, 
By  sympathy  wrung  too  deep, 
Escaping  madness  in  sleep. 

But  often  now  I  awake 

With  every  limb  a-quake, 

And  hair  upstarting,  wet, 

While  on  my  hearing  yet 

In  torture  shriek  again 

That  landscape  of  wounded  men. 


45 


MORROW-SONGS 


OPPORTUNITY 

THOR  with  his  thunderous  hammer  smote  the 
rock 

Full  nine  and  ninety  times  with  bounding  shock, 
And  still  a  mocking  laugh  the  granite  gave  ; 
Then  Thor  the  thunderer  slept  within  his  grave. 
I  came,  a  stripling,  dealt  my  puny  stroke, 
And  into  dust  the  stubborn  boulder  broke. 


TRUTH 

LIKE  the  dropping  rain  is  truth, 
Which  barren  soil  to  foulness  turns, 
But  life  in  fruitful  soil  reneweth, 
Till  all  the  land  with  beauty  burns. 


M'CREADY  * 

HOW  soon  forgotten  when  we  are  gone ! 
But  here  and  there  our  lives  bloom  on 
Perennial  in  faithful  hearts, 
Whose  love  recalls  our  played-out  parts, 

*  Died  June  16,  1890. 

46 


M'CREADY 

And  heaves  a  sigh  o'er  the  broken  thread, 

And  the  roofless  tower,  and  the  path  that  led 

To  where  the  prairie's  light  and  bloom 

Began  to  break  on  the  jungle's  gloom. 

For  the  spinning  ceased,  and  the  trowel  fell, 

And  the  pioneer,  who  had  led  so  well 

From  the  forest-depths  to  the  clearing's  verge, 

Sank  earthward,  powerless  to  emerge. 

But  he  left  behind  him  a  shining  trail, 

For  others'  guidance  who  shall  not  fail ; 

Who,  pressing  onward,  shall  easily  win 

To  the  gardens  of  beauty  and  enter  in ; 

By  thousands  enter,  till  where  he  trod 

They  build  an  avenue,  firm  and  broad ; 

At  the  side  of  which,  near  the  forest's  bound, 

He  lies  in  unremembering  ground. 

But  the  throngs  that  follow  where  first  he  went 

Shall  be  his  living  monument. 


STUMBLING-BLOCKS 

LIFE'S  greatest  art,  learned  through  its  hardest 
knocks, 
Is  to  make  stepping-stones  of  stumbling-blocks. 


47 


MORROW-SONGS 
TWO  CHARACTERIZATIONS 

H.  L.  K. — Shelley s  Adonais,  jja 

AT  last,  long  after  these,  a  form  appeared, 
Some  deemed  it  marsh-lamp,  some  a  meteor 
stray ; 

So  low  it  moved  that  envy  never  bleared, 
Nor  hate  nor  malice  stifled  its  thin  ray ; 
Yet  with  love's  rosy  flame  it  burned  alway, 
Save  wrath  at  wrong  flushed  it  with  vengeful  red, 
Or  honor's  hue,  caught  from  the  fount  of  day, 
Or  hope  with  gold  of  dawn  was  through  it  shed  ;  — 
Now  pale  with  ruth  and  rue,  it  sought  that  stricken 
head. 

K.  H.  K. — Born  January  i,  1892 

To  dare  the  right,  though  heaven  denounce  it  sin, 
To  clasp  the  truth,  though  all  men  brand  it  lie, 

To  stand  alone,  until  thy  firmness  win 

The  world  to  look  and  what  thou  seest  descry, 
To  know  thyself,  and  trust  thine  own  clear  eye 

Against  a  multitude,  greatly  to  love, 
Greatly  to  be  loved,  void  of  jealousy, 

And  not  even  hate  to  hate ;  so  live,  and  prove 

The  New  Year's  gift  to  earth  its  need  has  vision  of. 


INDIVIDUALISM 


INDIVIDUALISM 

WHEN  will  all  the  world  go  right  ? 
Never  !  —  Right  is  infinite. 
When  will  all  the  world  go  well  ? 
That  is  different ;  I  will  tell : 
When  each  man  shall  do  no  less 
Nor  more  than  mind  his  business, 
And  others  would  risk  life  and  limb 
Who  dared  to  interfere  with  him ;  — 
This  whenever  you  shall  see, 
The  world  will  then  wag  merrily. 


NEW  BIRTH 

>/T~MS  not  reform  the  world  wants, 
JL    A  smoothing  of  this  or  that  feature ; 

'T  is  not  reform,  but  conversion, 
A  new,  regenerate  creature. 


MASKS 

THOUGHT  is  but  the  mask  whereby 
Life  is  hid,  as  word  hides  thought. 
Ends  the  dance ;  and  eye  to  eye 
Soul  and  Life  at  last  are  brought. 

49 


MORROW-SONGS 


WIT  AND  MADNESS 

HIS  sister,  crazing,  dreamed  herself  a  queen, 
And,  after  long  years,  in  that  fancy  died ; 
Meanwhile,  a  poet,  he,  with  brow  serene, 

Faced  Life,  its  king ;  —  as  mad  as  she,  men  cried. 


OPPRESSION 

BROTHERS,  ye  still  must  suffering  endure  j  — 
'T  is  life's  hard  way  its  ills  through  pain  to  cure. 
And  cured  shall  yours  be  when  your  agony 
Wrings  you  at  last  to  ope  your  eyes  and  see. 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  CIVILIZATION 

MAN  outgrows  like  a  garment  and  throws  off 
Law,  which  is  custom  armed ;  then  custom 
next, 

That  levelling  instinct  of  the  commonplace; 
Last  righteousness,  which  is  the  cramped  cocoon 
Wherein  man's  soul  bred  wings  for  flying  free. 
Then  love  shoots  forth,  fragrant  and  white,  from  lust, 
As  from  its  root  in  mud  the  water-lily. 
Man's  long,  long  term  of  barbarism  ends, 
Civilization  and  true  life  begin. 
50 


THE  JEW 


THE  JEW* 

THE  Jew  at  his  best  and  worst,  Jesus  and  Shy- 
lock  stand ;  — 
Galilee  bred  the  one,  the  other  a  Christian  land. 


THE  KING  OF  DARKNESS 


I! 


F  I  were  the  King  of  Darkness, 

But  one  thing  I  should  fear. — 
I  would  toil  as  a  liberal  monarch 

To  make  my  people  freer ; 
I  would  take  the  tax  off  music, 

Words  should  be  free  as  air ; 
All  men  should  taste  of  the  choicest, 

And  revel  in  perfumes  rare. 
The  softest  of  silk  should  clothe  them, 

Their  limbs  should  repose  on  down ; 
Naught  should  lack  my  approval, 

On  no  excess  would  I  frown. 
One  only  thing  would  I  banish, 

And  combat  with  all  my  might, — 
The  poisonous,  blasphemous,  impious, 

Nihilistic  Light. 


*The  first  line  embodies  a  saying  of  my  friend  Robert  Nicol. 

51 


MORROW-SONGS 


MUSIC-LIFE 

OVER  the  poet's  eyes 
The  clods  are  shoveled  and  trod. 
Stifled  in  silence  lies 

The  seer  who  sang  of  God. 

Wide  o'er  that  voiceless  mound 
The  anthem's  might  outswells ; 

And  I  know  —  in  the  world  of  sound, 
Escaped,  the  spirit  dwells. 


RECREANT 

HAD  he  died  while  his  words  of  flame 
Were  kindling  every  soul, 
The  world  had  written  his  name 
On  its  brightest  hero-scroll. 

But  fate  condemned  him  to  live, 
And  life  his  words  to  unsay ; 

Our  idol  we  cannot  forgive 

For  crumbling  to  common  clay. 

But,  trust  me,  't  is  better  so ; 

No  man  should  our  homage  own  ; 
Our  hearts  should  their  faith  bestow 
52         On  Truth,  and  on  Truth  alone. 


THE  RULE  OF  MAMMON 


THE  RULE  OF  MAMMON 

LOADED  with  curses  of  men,  and  long  for- 
gotten of  God ; 

This  is  the  upas  tree  on  its  venom-blasted  sod ; 
Loveless,  lightless,  foul,  in  its  poison's  reeking  pall, 
Befriended,  known,  but  of  Hate,  where  God  smiles 

over  all. 
The  seasons  cheer  and  strengthen,  the  morns  their 

life  renew, 

But  here  is  naught  that  lives  but  the  drip  of  mur- 
der-dew, 
And  the  ring  of  leperous  greensward,  whose  oozy 

death  o'erpours, 
Widening,  widening,  widening  over  earth's  happy 

shores ; 
And  ever  its  charnel  breath  blackens  the  festered 

sky, 
And  ever  the  ground  that  was  made  for  men,  who 

have  risen  so  high, 
To  grow  from  men  into  man,  and,  still  ascending, 

who  knows  ? 
To  mount  from  man  into  godhead,  ever  the  good 

ground  grows 
But  a  breeding-place  for  devils,  where  they  that 

still  have  room 
Choke  their  brothers  backward  into  the  stench  and 

gloom ; 

53 


MORROW-SONGS 

And  both  outdo  the  beasts  in  their  clamorous  claw- 
ing strife  5 

And  still  that  circle  of  death  spews  over  the  green 
earth's  life. 

But,  see,  in  the  black  above,  the  lightnings  that 
probe  to  the  clod  ! 

An  earthquake  fumbles  beneath. 

No,  not  forgotten  of  God  ! 


BIRTH 

TO  E.  G.  R. 

FOR  thee  the  mother's  sacred  joy 
That  unto  earth  a  man  is  born ; 
For  him  the  love  without  alloy, — 

God's  pledge, —  unfailing  even  and  morn. 

HATE 

THE  hottest  hate  by  vengeance  fanned 
Burns  not  with  instant  wrath ; 
White  molten  iron  will  kiss  thy  hand, — 
But  make  it  not  thy  bath  ! 


54 


TRUTH,  PEACE,  LOVE 
TRUTH,  PEACE,  LOVE  * 

TRUTH 

"  T  T  7E  buy  the  truth,"  cried  Bunyan's  pilgrim 

V  V       pair, 

In  that  vile  mart  where  truth  ne'er  entered  in. 

Here,  amid  industry's  encroaching  din, 
Where  traffic's  tumult  storms  the  trembling  air, 
What  task  is  this  ye  deem  than  all  more  fair, 

What  profit  manifold  look  ye  to  win, 

What  ore  to  smelt,  what  golden  threads  to  spin, 
What  shop  is  this,  what  handiwork,  what  ware  ? 

We  build  a  mart  to  knowledge  consecrate, 

Above  whose  door  is  writ  "  Let  there  be  light." 

On  him  that  lacks  our  treasures  freely  wait, 
For  eyes  that  see  make  not  the  sun  less  bright. 

Free  are  our  goods,  yet  is  our  profit  great, 
For  only  truth  preserves  a  nation's  might. 

PEACE 

Of  knowledge  what  shall  be  the  earliest  fruit  ? 
Oh  !  can  ye  doubt  that  first-fruit  shall  be  peace  ? 
To  earth's  long  agony  bringing  release, 

*  Read  at  the  dedication  of  the  Riverside  Public  Library. 

55 


MORROW-SONGS 

Ending  the  trail  of  blood  that  from  the  brute 
Hath  ever  followed  man's  advancing  foot ; 

To  war  and  rumored  war  a  last  surcease. 

Desire  of  all  the  ages,  blest  increase 
Of  earth's  blood-watered  prayers,  Peace  we  salute. 

But  canst  thou  dream  these  inoffensive  ranks 
Have  power  to  scatter  war's  embattled  hosts  ? 

That  at  their  silent  shock  the  navy's  banks 

Of  waiting    death  shall  fade  from  earth's  fair 
coasts  ? 

Nay,  't  is  no  dream.  On  Slaughter's  bristling  flanks 
Truth  charges,  and  they  melt  like  morning  ghosts. 

LOVE 

For  lo !  a  mighty  spirit  upon  earth 

Descends,  whereof  Peace  but  forerunner  fares ; 

For  Peace  is  naught,  saving  as  it  prepares 
The  whole  round  world  a  pathway  for  the  mirth 
And  majesty  that  hasten  to  Love's  birth ; 

For  Love  shall  reign  wide  as  earth's  wooing  airs, 

Deep  as  man's  heart,  high  as  heaven's  altar  stairs, 
Whose  rule  shall  know  no  end,  nor  fulness  dearth. 

Love  the  fulfilment  is  of  all  the  law, 
And  all  the  aeons  of  the  travailing  past ; 

56 


TRUTH,  PEACE,  LOVE 

Is  in  our  hearts  fulfilled,  who  here  withdraw 
From  ease  and  gain  and  strife,  which  heaven 
o'ercast, 

That  we  may  build  this  temple  without  flaw 
To  Truth,  to  Peace,  to  Love,  supreme  and  last. 


JOHN  HENRY  MACKAY 

WIDE  through  the  world  thou  art  driven 
By  the  spirit  that  lashes  thy  breast ; 
All  life  can  give  it  hath  given 
Thee  freely,  save  only  rest ; 

Rest,  and  the  vision  raising 

The  vail  over  uttermost  skies, — 

The  look  that  comes  to  me  gazing 
Into  my  children's  eyes. 


ALONENESS 

SIRIUS  girt  by  worlds  of  light 
With  lesser  wonderment  I  mark 
Than  a  glowworm  in  the  forest's  night, 
Where  else  is  only  dark. 


57 


MORROW-SONGS 


COMRADE 

"  T    ET  the  dead  bury  their  dead  "  quoth  he  ; 

JL-rf  And  on  he  marched  without  more  ado ; 
Not  a  turn  of  the  head,  not  a  bend  of  the  knee, 

For  the  comrade  so  tender  and  brave  and  true. 

I  care  not ;  the  Cause  may  linger  now, 

While  the  stricken  heart  in  its  anguish  cowers ; 

I  must  kneel,  and  twine  for  that  fair  Greek  brow 
A  garland  of  dusty  wayside  flowers. 


THE  SATIRIST 

NOT  mine  to  draw  the  cloth-yard  shaft 
From  straining  palm  to  thrilling  ear ; 
Then  launch  it  through  the  monster's  hulk, 
One  thrust,  from  front  to  rear. 

Mine  is  the  Bushman's  tiny  bow, 

Whose  wounds  the  foeman  hardly  feels ; 

He  laughs  and  lifts  his  hand  to  smite, 
Then,  suddenly,  he  reels. 


MIDWAY 
MIDWAY  * 

Nel  mezzo  del  cammin  di  nostra  vita. 


for  dreams,  manhood  for  toil,  age  for 
X    the  dreams'  fulfilling, 
So  runs  the  course  of  highest  life,  when  all  the  gods 

are  willing. 
So  Dante  dreamed  and  agonized,  from  sweet  New 

Life's  romances, 
Through  strife  and  exile,  to  the  sight  that  crowns 

all  human  trances. 
His  face,  that  from  the  artist's  brush  had  graced 

the  courts  of  Heaven, 
Grew  seared  as  if  enswathed  within  his  Malebolge's 

levin  ; 
And  yet  his  heart  passed  on  unbroke  through  Hell's 

forlorn  abysm, 
Nor  failed  until  it  sank  beneath  the  triune  splen- 

dor's chrysm. 
So  sweet  Cervantes,  sunrise-souled,  with  wounds 

and  fetters  burdened, 
Nursed  in  his  heart  the  high  resolve  that  fate,  re- 

pentant, guerdoned. 
Before  his  smile  the  masquerade  of  folly,  robed  and 

hollow, 

*  Written  for  the  fifteenth  anniversary  of  the  class  of  1880  in 
Colby  University. 

59 


MORROW-SONGS 

Sank  like  the  braying  herds  that  felt  the  bright 

shafts  of  Apollo ; 
And,  u  one  foot  in  the  stirrup,"  still  he  wrought 

that  all  men  wondered, 
And  Death,  who  bore  his  soul  away,  of  half  his 

booty  plundered. 
So  Chaucer,  touched  by  love's  sweet  pain  to  most 

melodious  plaining, 
Was  doomed  to  con  life's  day-book  lines  of  sordid 

loss  and  gaining ; 

But  when  at  last  for  his  account  the  great  Task- 
master beckoned, 
He  smiled  and  held  the  world  aloft  with  all  its 

values  reckoned. 

Of  all  the  darlings  of  the  muse,  foremost  among 
her  favored, 

Blest  with  her  full,  peculiar  love,  that  life-long 
never  wavered, 

Stand  two  supremely  eminent :  the  one  whom  Flor- 
ence nourished, 

The  other  round  whose  youthful  steps  the  drama's 
fulness  flourished. 

But  twice,  O  calm  Urania,  high-throned  above  our 
passions, 

Twice  only  hast  thou  felt  the  pang  that  Death  for 
mortals  fashions : 


60 


MIDWAY 

Once  when  beneath  Ravenna's  pines  thy  Dante's 

eyes  were  darkened, 
And  once  when  Milton,  blind,  alone,  Death's  icy 

footsteps  hearkened. 
A  Samson  straining  at  the  posts  his  tugging  could 

not  level, 
A  captive  'neath  the  roof  where  Crime  held  high 

exultant  revel ; 
Powerless  to  raze  that  Shrine  of  Sin,  which  mocked 

his  might,  victorious, 
He  turned,  and  high  above  it  reared  another  shrine 

so  glorious 
That  all  the  world  with  pilgrim  feet  now  bends  its 

worship  thither, 
Unmindful  of  the  crumbling  Shame,  whose  weeds 

untrodden  wither ; 
So,  to  the  dream  of  Milton's  youth,  his  manhood's 

high  ambition, 

The  gods  accorded  to  his  age  to  work  a  full  frui- 
tion. 
Men  live  who  Hawthorne's  morning  saw  by  gloom 

of  toil  beclouded, 
Yet  witness  how  he  bore  his  heart  with  no  repining 

shrouded ; 
And  when  at  length  the  darkness  broke,  lo  !  fame's 

serenest  summit. 
The  height  his  youthful  vision  saw,  his  manhood's 

feet  had  clomb  it. 

61 


MORROW-SONGS 

O  kindly  friends  within  whose  eyes  the  light  of 

love  arises, 
Which  once  illumed  our  youthful  blanks  with  glow 

of  future  prizes, 
No  trophies  from  the  world  we  bring,  save  un- 

dimmed  high  endeavor, 
Yet  dare  believe  your  toil,  your  faith,  shall  not  be 

mocked  forever. 
Our  dreams  are  dreamed ;  with  eyesight  purged  of 

golden  youth's  illusion, 
We  see  the  world  the  maze  it  is  of  struggle  and 

confusion. 
No  place  for  dreams  !  and  yet  we  leave  our  castles 

high  upbuilded, 
Flushed  with  the  rose  of  hope  untried,  with  dawn's 

expectance  gilded. 
We  turn,  and  deep  in  earth  we  delve,  or  swink  in 

kiln  and  quarry, 
Whereto  ?  but  that  the  world  some  day  may  see, 

and  not  be  sorry, 
Those  airy  outlines  taking  form  in  solid,  shining 

marble, 
A  house  of  joy,  where  men  may  feast,  while  birds 

around  it  warble. 
For  History  this  proclaims,  its  flight  world-wide 

through  aeons  taking, 
That  naught  abides  save  only  dreams  transmuted 

into  waking. 
62 


ORIGINALITY 


ORIGINALITY 

THE  man  who  not  yet  seeth  clear, 
Confused  by  cries  "Lo  there!"  "  Lo 

here  ! " 

Can  but  proclaim  another's  sight. 
But  when  he  once  hath  seen  aright, 
Pierced  to  the  splendor  through  the  dim, 
His  vision  so  attendeth  him, 
Whate'er  he  views  by  others  shown, 
His  revelation  bides  his  own. 


REVEALED 

NOW,  on  a  sudden,  I  know  it,  the  secret,  the 
secret  of  life. 

Why,  the  very  green  of  the  grass  in  the  fields  with 
betrayal  is  rife  ! 

The  whirr  of  the  grasshopper  by  the  wayside  pro- 
claims it  to  all ; 

'T  is  unrolled  as  a  scroll  to  all  eyes  in  the  curve  of 
the  waterfall. 

But,  for  me,  I  can  only  wonder  at  mortals,  —  the 
secret  out ; 

For  they  see,  hear,  taste,  smell,  feel  not  what  Heaven 
reveals  all  about. 

63 


MORROW-SONGS 


KEARSARGE 

THIS  morning  on  my  eastward  road 
Kearsarge's  top  a  diamond  glowed. 
At  noon  on  its  ice-planed  ridge  I  lie, 
Facing  the  neighbor  clouds  on  high  ; 
My  back  is  warmed  by  the  sun-bathed  stone, — 
A  child  of  earth  myself  I  own, 
And  yet  within  for  flight  endowed, 
To  float,  a  brother  to  the  cloud. 
An  eagle  swims  the  gulf  abreast, 
Eyeing  askance  his  unknown  guest. 
O  Eagle,  I  wonder  if  thou  art 
Nearer  than  I  to  the  mountain's  heart ; 
Canst  better  the  hidden  meaning  guess 
Of  its  vast  and  cavernous  silences ; 
The  burden  of  its  midnight  moan, 
The  plaint  of  the  rain  on  its  breast  of  stone, 
Or  the  Cause  whereto  its  trumpet-call 
Summons  the  world  to  fight  or  fall. 

But  hither  though  we  twain  may  come, 
Neither  here  can  build  his  home. 
Thine  is  the  tree-top  half-way  down, 
And  mine  in  the  lowland,  the  far-off  town. 
Thy  tongue  I  know  not,  thou  knowst  not  mine ; 
We  dimly  interpret  by  sound  and  sign , 


KEARSARGE 

Then  how  shall  either  the  secret  reach 
Of  the  mountain's  formless  and  primal  speech  ? 
Yet  all-prevailing  is  love  that  abides ; 
Not  wholly  its  meaning  the  mountain  hides 
From  thee  in  thy  patient,  circling  flight, 
Nor  me  outstretched  on  its  sailing  height. 
For  what  we  lack  it  behooves  us  wait ; 
And  what  we  have  learned,  with  hearts  elate, 
Yet  awed  by  the  mountain's  mighty  sway, 
To  ponder,  understand,  and  obey. 

BABYHOOD 

THE  baby  learns  by  bumps  and  bruises, 
Else  could  he  never  learn  at  all. 
Now,  who  can  tell  but  this  the  use  is 
Of  earthly  life  to  great  and  small  ? 

Our  world  was  haply  made  to  fail  in, 
The  place  to  learn  how  not  to  do ; 

To  blunder,  stumble,  ache,  and  wail  in, 
Till  out  of  false  we  learn  the  true. 


MORROW-SONGS 


MEDIO  TUTISSIMUS  IBIS 

THEY  bade  me  take  the  middle  course 
And  shun  a  palsied  eld's  remorse ; 
Betimes  to  rise  and  eke  to  bed, 
Look  not  on  wine  or  lips  when  red, 
In  food  and  drink,  in  speech  and  dress, 
Avoiding  spareness  and  excess ; 
Ever  as  Wisdom's  final  touch 
To  take  the  rule  of  "  Not  too  much." 

By  this  rule  have  I  lived  my  life, 

Free  from  ambition,  joy,  or  strife ; 

And  now,  when  fourscore  years  are  done, 

I  strike  the  balance,  and  have  won 

From  all,  head,  heart,  and  hand  have  brought 

In  fourscore  years  of  living  —  naught. 

Better  one  pang  of  love's  defeat, 

One  mad  thought  hammered  at  white  heat, 

One  dash  to  gain  a  hopeless  goal, 

Than  Life  triumphant  over  Soul. 


66 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  TOIL 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  TOIL 

O  GOLDEN  Dreams  that  I  loved  and  toiled 
but  to  feed, 

This  is  the  triumph  of  toil,  that  no  longer  I  heed 
You,  whom  I  toiled  for  by  day  to  possess  at  night, 
But  find  night  and  day  in  toil  my  only  delight. 


THE  PLAYER 

YON  man  with  hollow  cheeks  and  eyes  of  fire, 
And  hair  upstarting,  as  he  smites  the  lyre ; 
The  message  it  so  wrings  him  to  convey, 
That  music,  dar'st  thou  hear  and  call  it  play  ? 


*  SONG-LULL 

WHY  are  our  poets  silent  ?    Is  it  in 
The  utter  wanhope  of  this  devil's-din, 
Which  stuns  men  into  deafness  ?    Do  not  fear ! 
That  low-born  jangle  never  meets  their  ear. 
It  is  because  too  near  sweeps  roaring  by 
The  flaming  robe  of  giant  Destiny. 


MORROW-SONGS 


THE  TIME-SERVER 

HE  serves  the  Time  with  knuckle  and  nod, 
And  Time,  who  is  a  generous  god, 
Gives  him  all  that  heart  can  desire, 
Except,  it  may  be,  prophetic  fire. 


GENIUS 

AT  last  the  doom  of  genius  is  made  plain ;  — 
Not  heavenly-fed  the  beacon  we  behold, 
Which  turns  the  dusk  of  earthly  life  to  gold, 
But  stealing  sustenance  from  heart  and  brain. 
No  marvel  if  the  streaming  Pharos  drain 

The  strength  that  lifts  it,  and  with  manifold 
Disaster  crashing  fall,  its  years  half  told, 
A  fume  bat-winged  with  every  shape  of  pain. 

Twin-born  its  wreck  and  splendor.  —  Oh  !  rejoice 
That  we  have  learned  its  secret,  and  no  more 

May  cheapen  with  blind  insult  or  defence 
Its  godlike  doom,  wherein  was  writ  no  choice 
And  no  escape.    The  dead  vain  tears  deplore ; 
The  living  claim  love's  tardy  penitence. 


68 


FERTILITY 


FERTILITY 

A  MONTH  devoid  of  song,  but  strown 
With  toil  and  pain  and  anxious  care, — 
The  cumbering  draff  through  which  alone 
Song's  fragrant  blossoms  leap  to  air. 


GUIDED 

MUSE,  we  have  rowed  on  glassy  streams, 
Poised  'twixt  the  skies  of  truth  and  dreams  ; 
You,  at  the  tiller,  lolled  to  trail 
A  water-lily  o'er  the  rail ; 
I,  drunken  with  your  beauty's  wine, 
Recked  only  of  its  breath  divine, 
Nor  dreamed  what  high  up-clashing  seas 
Should  follow  swift  that  love-lapped  ease* 

On  tHbse  white  surges  tost  and  whirled, 

An  atom  in  a  strangling  world, 

Without  a  star,  without  a  ray, 

We  drove  through  wrecks  of  night  and  day, 

You  guiding  still  our  dizzy  flight, 

I  at  your  feet  benumbed  with  fright, 

Till  suddenly  you  seized  my  hand, 

And  lo !  we  were  in  peace  at  land. 


MORROW-SONGS 

On  this  Enchanted  Isle  our  stay 
Or  long  or  short  is  yours  to  say. 
Here  all  about  us  rolls  the  sea, 
Its  terror  now  a  part  of  me, 
To  heighten  joys  like  these  I  know, 
Reclining  on  your  breast  of  snow, 
Yet  to  assure  by  sea  or  land 
My  welfare  at  your  guiding  hand. 


THE  WAY  STATION 

TWELVE  times  a  day  the  train  whirls  by, 
Four  times  my  humble  name  it  heeds ; 
I  live  not  in  the  traveler's  eye 

More  than  the  rail  o'er  which  he  speeds. 

From  the  great  city  forward  borne 

To  the  great  city  of  his  quest, 
Awake  or  slumbering,  night  or  morn, 

He  recks  not  of  my  toil  or  rest. 

Yet,  but  for  me,  the  giant  mart 

Would  melt  like  drifted  smoke  of  trains ; 
Its  very  stones  are  all  my  part, 

And  mine  its  conquering  hands  and  brains. 


70 


CULTURE 


CULTURE 

BEAUTY, —  ah!  yes,  but  first  let  Justice  be 
done  in  the  earth, 
Justice,  which  brings  Heaven  down  from  the 

barren  stars  to  the  ground, 

Here  to  be  dwelt-in  of  men  —  Heaven's  only  mean- 
ing and  worth ; 

And  in  Heaven  or  this  our  Hell,  think  you,  shall 
Beauty  be  found  ? 

Nay,  dream  not  of  Heaven  below ;  the  utmost  that 

earth  can  give, 
The  highest  of  human  life,  the  perfectest  Golden 

Age, 
Will  not  be  Heaven  brought  down,  where  men 

shall  as  angels  live, 

But  Purgatory,  where  still  we  shall  climb  from 
stage  to  stage. 


BEFORE  DAWN 

BECAUSE  I  spurned  the  manikin  men  name 
The  Ineffable  Name,  they  shrieked  and  stopped 

their  ears. 
But  taunts  of"  Atheist  "  lend  my  death  no  fears; 


MORROW-SONGS 

My  dread  is  all  lest  I,  as  meet  for  blame, 
Reared  too  my  idol  when  I  durst  proclaim : 

Exalt  we   Plato's  thought,  the  Christ's  warm 

tears, 
And   Caesar's   throne   above   heaven's   topmost 

spheres, 
The  Infinite  outsoars  them  still  the  same. 

Silence  had  holier  been ;  I  see  it  now, 

Lying  'twixt  night  and  what  shall  follow  night. 

Better  to  stand  with  bare  and  open  brow 
Confessing  never  can  our  human  sight 

Attain  thy  garment's  hem ;  yea,  to  avow 
Earth's  dark  not  even  the  nadir  of  thy  light. 


DUST 

SATANIC  Science,  to  reveal 
A  speck  of  dust  the  snowflake's  core  ! 
Well,  bravo,  dust !     If  you  could  steal 
Angelic  plumes,  we  '11  mope  no  more. 


72 


TWO  POETS 


TWO  POETS 

HE  had  a  straight  Greek  brow,  which  sculptors 
loved, 

And  clear  and  pure  his  classic  measures  rang. 
Men  hailed  him  bard  by  all  the  gods  approved, 
And  snowy  maids  his  star-cold  numbers  sang. 

Look  now  on  this  face.  Mark  the  bulging  brow, 
The  shapeless  mouth,  the  torn  and  twisted  ear, 

The  seams  of  riot.  Nay,  who  marks  them  now  ? 
He  fired  men's  hearts  to  win  our  Golden  Year. 


73 


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